


The Garden Shows Me The End

by Ocimi



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Bronte - Freeform, Gunshot, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25947433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ocimi/pseuds/Ocimi
Summary: "Good! Now kick that damn door in!"That sentence started it all.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Van der Linde Gang
Comments: 3
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably be a two shot as I fight my way past writers block on my other WIP.

Angelo Bronte had made a fool of Dutch, or so he said. Arthur didn't quite believe that but he went along with it anyway, waded through swampy water and nearly got eaten alive by that giant beast they called an alligator all for a few words of praise. Still, he supposed it was kind of exhilarating in a weird way. He lit a match off his boot and gently cupped the flame until the end of his cigarette lit before pulling a drag, exhaling out a long sigh of smoke as he listened to Bill and Dutch chat about Tahiti and it's supposed paradise. 

He shifted his gun belt, feeling uncomfortable with how much weight he had lost recently before walking to join the conversation. Dutch greeted him irritably, almost like he was late to a meeting he didn't know they had. It wasn't even sundown so he knew he wasn't late, still he said nothing in retort and awkwardly climbed into the boat with a sheepish grimace when he jostled John on accident. He tuned out most of the general chatter from the other men as they bickered about Bill and his past, barely tuning in when Dutch went on a rant about how the true savages were us.

Arthur much liked to agree on that one, considering that they took the land right from under the tribes.

Either way he cared very little for the bickering, choosing instead to let his mind wander to the strange folk he had met that week. The weird brothers bickering over a girl, a waspy man aptly named, and a man who made an electric chair, inhumane as it was. Though, eventually his mind wandered back as he grew a bit irritated at the idle chatter.

"Interesting way you boys got of preparing for a killing." Dutch turned to him with a roll of his eyes and growled about wasting his life trying to teach 'you boys' with a light shrug of his shoulders. Arthur felt a wave of relief flash through him briefly when Dutch said he loved them but quickly shoved it away to retort.

"Well, leaving love aside," He coughed, interrupting himself before grinding out, "you think we got this?" Dutch shuddered a sigh, the weight of the gang sat heavy and thick on his shoulders but he still managed a very Dutch answer.

"Don't you never leave love aside, Arthur... It is all we got." 

\--

The rest of the boat ride was silent, save for the gentle lapping of the swamp waters. They made it to the dock at quarter to midnight gently drifting up onto the shore before sneaking up to the wall as quiet as possible. The grunt of a man heaving himself over the wall alerted Arthur it was time to move and he heaved himself up and over before Dutch ordered him to follow John. They moved quick and quiet in sync with the each other before they lined themselves up to take out to armed guard. Quietly he loaded his gun with trained hands and nodded at John as they lined their shots off.

In.

Out.

Squeeze.

The sound of the bullet leaving the chamber was all the signal the others needed to surge forward guns firing off rapidly. They moved up and took cover, Arthur doing his best to avoid getting shot, before the numbers of armed guards outside was lower. Distantly they heard Bronte shouting in Italian before Dutch ordered them to the house. Arthur, ever the loyal man ran towards the door, gunning down a man who had John in his sights. Dutch and John skidded to a stop beside him, taking cover on either side of the door. 

"Shoot that lock, Arthur!" John rasped, watching as Dutch threw a rifle at the man. Arthur nodded, lined his sights up and fired. The lock fell to the ground with a clang and Dutch smiled.

"Good. Now, Kick that damn door in!" Arthur did and immediately fired off two shots, before shouting out as he fell. Blood sprayed behind him and he heard his name being shouted as the world seemed to turn and swirl and his ears rang. He shooed hands away, shouting out to get Bronte as he tried to not curl in on his aching stomach. Blood pooled out around him and he took a deep breath before crawling backwards, out the house and onto the porch, he made it to a pillar and leaned up against it gasping. He could hear the firing of multiple guns before everything went eerily quiet. He chanced a look down and the white shirt he was wearing was now stained a horrible crimson that seemed to be getting wetter and wetter. His vision briefly swam as he coughed another breath out, he sagged forward and to the right as a he gasped. Red pooled around him slowly as he bled out, he bit back a groan and blinked sluggishly towards the house. 

Eventually the gunshots started back up and the tell tale sound of a whistle blew but to Arthur it seemed so far away. Eventually he saw John, Bronte slung over his shoulder with a grimace on his face, running towards him while Bill and Lenny covered with Dutch trailing behind. The older man skid to a stop next to him, swore under his breathe and roughly yanked his arm so he would stand. 

Stand he did, with a stumble. Dutch took most of his weight and all but dragged Arthur forward, shooting as he went. He moaned as the world spun around him and seemed to grow ever fuzzier. They ran through the pristine garden towards where they had left the boat, Arthur stumbled and Dutch all but carried him forward as they finally made it to the boat and his legs gave up on him and the world darkened dangerously. He panted, not hearing the shouts above him as John tossed the italian in the boat and helped drag his bleeding form in and next to him where Lenny would eventually sit. He didn't realize he was hyperventilating until the dark skinned man tapped his face gently. His eyes couldn't focus and he blinked sluggishly, murmuring a 'I'm fine'.

Dutch stared, thoughts churning angrily in his head. Bronte would pay, for both the betrayal and for injuring his son. He ordered John to put pressure on the right wound, while Lenny held the left. Arthur grimaced and grit his teeth, showing blood stained teeth. The beginnings of panic seemed to sour his stomach. 

They rowed for what felt for hours before Bronte woke up and they approached shore. The idiotic fancy man had tried to bribe the men who stared blankly at the man. Dutch growled as Bronte turned his eyes to the dying man.

"He won't make it, so I think in the end I got the last laugh. Scemo."

Dutch threw a wild and angry fist into the man's bruised face, before pulling his revolver out and levelling it to his head. He breathed in, out, before lowering it. 

"Bill. Deal with him." Dutch's voice was low, dark. A shudder ran through the Italian mans body. He schooled his face carefully as he worked with the others to get Arthur off the boat and onto land. The men they had helped earlier ushered them in a cabin to hopefully save Arthur's life.


	2. Chapter 2

When Arthur was a young boy he lived a happy existence, a happy bubbly baby that rarely fussed and whose vibrant blue eyes were clear and intelligent. When his momma died, it took him a while to accept that she was never coming home.

His dad started to beat him.

He was five, ran through the back door of the slowly crumbling shack they called home with their dog Otis trailing behind. He was giggling uncontrollably after having a fun day in the pond with the dog. Unbeknownst to him his father had drunk himself stupid and had lost a hundred dollars to alley way brawl. 

As he ran past his fathers room a hand snacked out and grabbed the back of his shirt. Arthur yelped as his feet left the ground and kicked his legs trying to find purchase. By pure accident he kicked the older man in the knee, causing a shout of pain before suddenly the ground was coming towards his face. 

The next thing he knew he was cowering against his bed frame sobbing apologies over and over.

-

His father had taken Arthur's beaten head in his hand the next morning, hungover, and apologized over and over promising he would never hit him again.

He lied.

By age 10 it became a multiple times a day event for his father to beat him, his face was always swollen and bruised causing others to stare. It was hard for the young kid to find a place to get work as most adult took one look at him and shooed him away like a flea ridden dog. He was hungry and tired and so desperate for food and warmth as the chilly January air caused him to shiver violently. When he got home and his father was missing Arthur counted his blessings, crept quietly through the door and into the house through the kitchen and into what was his room. It was a bare room, a threadbare mattress with a thing and hole ridden mattress. He crawled into the bed and sniffed as he shivered.

-

1874 brought both relief and terror to the 11 year old boy. His father was glaring fiercely at his form from the gallows, a rope tightened around his neck and his last words frightened the child.

"You'll be just like me."

-

The next few years really changed the once innocent child into a hardened teen. At 12 he narrowly avoided death from being thrown from a train from a pickpocket gone wrong

At 13 he successfully perfected his pickpocket abilities and was able to steal a gun. He practiced and practiced, never quite getting the hang of it although it did make robbing the richer folk a lot easier. The sight of just a scraggly teen would be cause to laugh until a gun involved. Most realized the young boy had nothing to lose causing them to empty their pockets and run. Arthur always felt bad after but the full feeling in his belly was something he knew only once in a while. Eventually the law caught on to what he was doing and chased him out of town and without being taught, hunting was a mystery to him.

At 14 he made a huge mistake.

He saw two young men, one looking around 30 and the other 20, minding their own while drinking casually at a saloon. He eyed them carefully as they went about their day. Laughter caused crinkled eyes and Arthur stuck. He managed a satchel and was out the door before he heard a shout of disbelief and stomps echoed behind him. He sprinted down the closest alley scrambling with frantic breathe as he turned left, skidding to a stop as the dark haired man cut him off. He turned around only to be cut off again. He backed up into the wall and clutched the stolen goods to his chest. 

The older blonde man huffed out a laugh as they stomped closer to the now cowering boy. Arthur couldn't know this encounter would change his life.

By the time he was 15 the duo became a trio and an uneasy truck came upon the three of them. Arthur had gained a small bit of weight but still spent most of his time staying out of sight and doing as many chores as he could manage in a day. Eventually the terror of being hit had changed and morphed until his feelings of terror was replaced with the feeling of acceptance.

He finally had a family.

‐

When he woke up he was screaming. 

A fiery hot pain burnt his stomach and he desperately wanted to curl up around the pain, smothering it out. Instead he felt hands restraining his arms and legs causing a fog of panic. 

Whispers of reassurance snaked into his ear but was drowned out by his own shouts. Eventually the pain slowly burnt out leaving him panting and sweaty as he kept his eyes screwed up. He realized there were fingers coming through his hair and agonizingly pried his eyes open to see Hosea's glossy eyes staring down towards his lower half. He dizzingly moved his gaze down and towards his stomach to see Dutch and an unknown man talking angrily above him. They seemed to be arguing when suddenly both their eyes turned towards him, worry in one and a icy coldness in the other.

Dutch was speaking but he heard nothing. Though he guessed they were asking if he was okay, he would have laughed if he had the energy. He panted and drug his eyes back up to Hosea.

The older man slowly moved his lips and sighed when the blank stare stay blank. Hosea sighed and turned to Dutch, a tired look in his eyes.

"He can't hear us, and I'm guessing he won't remember this later. All that matters now of he gets the help he needs." A glare to the doctor caused the younger professional man to shudder.

"I told you! I did all I could, it's up to him now. The bullets did damage but the worst of it was the loss of blood. Listen, sirs, keep him warm and dry and pray. That's all I can say." Dutch was not happy with the answer but begrudgingly payed the man and helped Hosea move the weakened man towards a stage they commandeered to move him from the swamp to the doctor then to the abandoned plantation house they currently called home. Knowing Arthur was no longer in immediate danger caused a sweeping feeling of relief to encompass the tight knit family.

Once they managed to get the injured body into the house and onto a bed they breathed easier. The stormy chaotic thoughts that had taken over Dutch's mind seemed to calm and ease into a more manageable drizzle. It was Micah who dared poke the bear.

"Boss, where is Morgan? I have a job and I need a man." He drawled, spitting a wad of tobacco onto the ground near him. The leader grimaced and rubbed his hands down his vest. A calming gesture.

"He is otherwise incapacitated, Mr.Bell." though he was fond of the blonde miscreant he was not in the mood for idle chatter. He momentarily had forgotten his strongest belief.

Revenge is a fools errand.

It had cost him, his son and second longest ally was lying, riddled with bullets and near death all because he got ahead of himself. Micah sneered and rolled his eyes.

"I'm sure he can miss out on his beauty sleep. Doesn't seem to be helping his case anyway." He chuckled, abruptly cut off as a big hand stopped his breathing. Fiery brown almost black eyes met the bow terrified eyes of Micah. Anger cause the leader to snarl and bring his face uncomfortably close to his.

"You leave Mr.Morgan alone or you'll have me to answer to, you understand?" He dropped the other man, wiped his hands on his vest again and stepped away.

"Glad you understand." His voice was dark and intimidating causing Micah to slink away with his tail between his legs.

\--

Arthur woke up.

The camp was ecstatic to see the man begin the painstaking progress of healing. Two shots to the stomach was rather discomforting. Eventually when the wound slowly closed over and caused only mild pain he was allowed to venture out and into the camp. The other greeted gim eagerly and Arthur allowed himself a smile. 

Family had found him and he was glad for it. Perhaps his father had been wrong after all...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I might have lied... I want to maybe do a third chapter to go over his healing process. Also I wrote this on my phone as I am away from computers for the week, I'm hoping to go back and edit any mistakes out when I can!


	3. Chapter 3

The healing process was long, painful and itchy. As the wound closed it itched something fierce and rather often Hosea or Dutch or occasionally both would smack his hand when he reached to scratch the intense itch that seemed to swallow his stomach whole. A gentle chide and he would looked ashamed before trying again like a child testing his boundaries. 

"For gods sake Arthur! Leave them alone!" Dutch growled, smacking his hand for what felt like the 100th time. Hosea chucked from behind him as he offered a hot cup of coffee to the charismatic leader. He gratefully took the offer and glared over the rim at the young man. 

"Its so itchy, God. Hosea, please can I have a drink?" Arthur wasn't a man who begged often, but he would if it meant he could feel the burn of anything other then the healing process. 

Hosea rolled his tired eyes and agreed. 

"One. Arthur, repeat. ONE." He was joking of course and the wounded man rolled his eyes and moaned. 

"Got it, two. No. Wait. Three." He laughed and then moaned in pain as it pulled on the stitches. 

"Serves you right." Dutch chided, a spark of fondness in his eye. The bond between the three men was something most families only dreamed of achieving, a tight knit trio that had been to hell and back three, four times but still managed to stay together. 

\-- 

Two weeks later Arthur would mourn the simpler days as he was dragged by Pinkertons towards where the gang was busy robbing the Saint Denis Bank. He had taken Hosea's position as the older man had caught a cold from staying up with Arthur every night when the pain and itch from the wound was too much to sleep, and now he was glad for it. They had roughed him up and planned go parade him infront of his family like a perfect pelt for showing. 

"Dutch! Get out here! Get out here now!" Milton pressed a gun to Arthur's temple, pushing him forward with a sneer on his face. 

"Mr Milton, let my friend go!" He heard but did not see the older man. He grunted as the gun pressed harder into his skull. 

"Dutch, don't!" Arthur shouted towards the building causing Milton to smack his with the butt of the gun. 

"It's over Van Der Linde! No more 'deals'. 

Dutch's voice cracked as he shouted, "This is America, there is always a deal!" 

Milton sneered, cocked his gun, pushed Arthur forward and yelled. 

"I've given you enough chances."

A loud shot filled the air and an anguished cry replaced it soon after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh hehehehehehz
> 
> Part 4 coming soon to a screen near you


	4. Chapter 4

When Arthur went on his first ever mission with Hosea and Dutch he had been almost giddy, a chance to finally prove himself to the men he had begun to look up to. He of course flunked that mission from pure lack of experience but he had felt so bad he hid from the duo for a week before crawling back with his tail tucked between his legs and hunger eating away at his stomach. 

Looking back at that first mission was more of a humorous thing now, especially now that his body fell seemingly in slow motion. He thought back to the first mission as his eyes met the horrified ones of his mentor. 

'I'm sorry.' He thought closing his eyes as the ground swallowed him whole. 

\-- 

When he was alone as a teen he remembered the constant feeling of hunger and hopelessness as he drifted around. He once met a lady who opened her home to him for the night and regailed him with stories of her youth. She was partly mad but was good company for the lonely boy. Nonetheless when he left the next morning he considered robbing her of whatever he could but thought better of it and ran off instead. He turned as he ran and saw her staring sadly at him as he went. 

He had hopped onto a train that night and attempted to pickpocket a wealthy looking gentlemen. Unbeknowst to him the man he tried to rob was Colm long before he had heard the name Dutch Van Der Linde. 

When he was caught the man had held him by the neck over the edge of a moving train and laughed. His pain was humorous. He was thrown and had landed harshly breaking a few bones as he rolled before harshly hitting a tree and blacking out. He had promised himself to never let that happen again. 

Never let another man lay hands on him again.

\-- 

"You did all you could, you managed to get everyone to safety and that's all we can ask. Please, go to bed. You've been here all week and you're starting to look sick." 

Voices? He hasn't heard that voice in a long time.. 

"Well, I suppose I can. Please wake me if anything happens. He is all the joy I have left in the world." 

"..momma?" He murmured, prying his eyes open with great difficulty. Above him Beatrice peered down at him, gently caressing his face before leaning down a kissing his temple before leaving. 

"Am I dead?" He said, watching as no one reacted. He remembered this time vaguely. His mom had taken him to church with her one Sunday a a toddler, when the church was torched. She had managed to get everyone to safety but her young son, him, had gotten sick from smoke. He was barely lucid for a long time after, when he did finally wake up his mom was dying from something he didn't understand and his dad was drinking daily. 

The world around him seemed to blur and he blinked his eye again to see the concerned face of Hosea. 

"-thur? You awake?" Hosea gently tapped his face. He could heard Dutch and John arguing off to the side but... John sounded way too young to be current. 

"You did it son, you saved John. Please wake up." 

Oh, right. He had jumped into rapids to save John, the idiot. He had used all his strength to get the boy to the edge of the river before he was sucked away and went tumbling down and away, thrown as if he was merely a ragdoll. He heard rather then felt the harsh cough that dislodged water from his throat and the scene was over. 

Now he was blinkingat the cobblestone patches of Saint Denis as a pool of blood slowly expanded around him. 

The world seemed to roar back into movement as the agents near him dove into cover and gun fire erupted, distantly he heard his name being shouted and dragged his eyes up to see Dutch ducking behind cover, angrily shouting behind him. 

"I... thought this was a bad idea." He whispered to himself. Right now though? Right now he needed to move off this street and do his best to survive, so he started to crawl. The gang unintentionally gave him cover as he moved, albeit slowly, agonizingly so. 

"Look, he's moving!" John grunted, causing Dutch to whip his head to look, a relieved but tense look on his face. Dutch needed a plan, did he stay still and cover Arthur as he crawled or did he get the rest of the members moving to hopefully safety. Neither one was ideal given the lives on the line. 

"Shit. SHIT!" He cursed anger turning his vision blurry. 

"John, Javier!" He barked. "Blow the wall in the safe up. Bill, go cover for them. When the wall blows we only have seconds to get out. Micah, Lenny, help me keep cover over Arthur." 

"You got it, boss!" Lenny, he always did like that kid. He was always first to volunteer and was a decent shot, he was also as smart as a whip and frequently Dutch and him would debate the writings of various writers. 

Arthur crawled desperation alone fueling his movement, he could feel the blood oozing out of his back wound and knew he would need help if he were to survive. The shock of what happened had numbed the pain, but made him feel like he was three whiskeys in but not the pleasant alcohol way he came to crave. 

He felt the rough step up of the bank stairs and almost wanted to holler in relief. The thought of climbing those stairs in his state though made him feel dizzy and tired. 

"Lenny, cover me! I'm going to grab Arthur!" Dutch shouted as he flung the bank door open, ducking as a bullet whizzed by him. He pleaded silently to any God to please let his son live, and please let him get to him in time. 

He felt the searing hot pain of a bullet grazing his arm but paid it no mind as he lunged forward and all but dragged the almost limp body of Arthur off the street. His entire back was coated in blood and he was panting and pale, blood staining his teeth. 

Dutch wanted to throw up. 

How had he let it come to this? How had they known of the bank robbery? There had to have been a rat. What other option was there? His brain tumbled through everyone he could think of, every action, every slight... 

"Duh....tch..." His eyes automatically flicked to the sound and he saw the tired sunken eyes of Arthur. Behind him he heard an explosion and yanked his vest off to stop the bleeding on Arthur before pulling the man up with him. 

Lenny came to the other side of the bleeding man and helped drag him towards the new hole in the wall. The gang sprinted as best they could down the street and through alleyways. 

"Left... here... alley..." Arthur wheezed suddenly. "Trust... me..." 

And God did Dutch want to trust his dying son. They went left and ran down the alley, Lenny looking around nervously. Down the alley there was a building that looked abandoned, a perfect and secluded hiding spot. The men clambered inside, closing and barricading the door behind them. The dusty interior was small and dark and there was a flight of stairs that led up into three rooms, they queitly hurried up the stairs and chose a room to hunker down in. There, Dutch thought. 

John paced the room glancing back to the injured body in the room, a question nagging his mind. 

"Arthur..." he whispered, "what happened go Abigail?" His heart was thumping loudly with anxiety as the bloodshot eyes opened to meet his. Dutch's head whipped over at the question, a thoughtful look in his eyes.m 

"She... escaped... the tnt went off, and I saw them before her... distracted them.." he grunted in pain, his back on fire now as the shock started to wear off. Dutch rolled the man over onto his stomach and carefully used his blade to slice the blood soaked shirt off. The wound did not look good, the bullet had entered the fleshy part of his back, near the left side but luckily had gone all the way through. 

Arthur made eye contact with Dutch, his eyes seemed to be wet with unshed tears and jusy as soon, he blacked out, his words echoing around Dutch. 

"I'm sorry, I tried."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I kinda preferred to keep it ambiguous but I also love happy endings, you don't necessarily need to read this chapter to finish the fic, but it is a sappy end or whatever

Many years later, standing over Hosea's grave after he slipped away in his sleep Dutch thought back to 1899. 

He had managed to rally everyone together and with Charles' guidance managed to slink through the swap and away from the cursed city. They had managed it, and had brought with it the money they had needed to start over, to sail away to a new country, Tahiti, Australia... It didn't matter then. None of it mattered while the grief shattered his fragile mind. 

Hosea was the rock he had needed, had stood stoically next to him as the watched the activity flutter around camp in anxious movements. 

He dusted a the dirt off the top of the marker and cleared his throat, beginning; 

"Hey old friend, 

Do you remember when we first met? You tried to rob me and I you? When we met I knew then that you would be special to me, always. You were my brother." He broke off, taking a steadying breath before continuing. 

"The first time we met Arthur and I filled his head with stories of granduer and excitement, leading up to the first big score we took him on, I remember feeling so anxious of what could go wrong, what I didn't plan on... but you were there, steadying and calm, a life saver really. I remember us panicking when we discovered the boys empty bed roll, terrified we had lost him. I remember your laugh when he slunk back in, starving and nervous." 

He swallowed thickly. 

"I... miss you terribly." 

"You're getting soft old man, that's ancient history now." Came a teasing voice behind him. He turned, catching the teasing look in Arthur's eyes as the sun started to set. 

"Old man?" Dutch asked raising his eye brow, as he strode over to the now graying man. "You're almost the same age as me!" He laughed, patting Arthur on the shoulder. 

Together they began the trek down the dusty path towards the ramshackle ranch they had thrown together after years of moving, running and hiding. After the bank in Saint Denis they had planned and plotted and purchased a homestead all the way in Australia, far from the Pinkertons reach and far from the outlaw lifestyle they had once belonged to. 

Of course, not everyone was happy about starting over with a clean slate, Micah had gotten up in a tizzy after a particularly loud scolding from Hosea one summer afternoon causing him to flee the farm in order to continue his outlaw ways, Bill had stayed for a long while, enjoying the simpler way before he decided to head back to America for reasons none of the gang could understand wholly. 

Arthur had recovered agonizingly slow, almost dying multiple times in a few days before he finally pulled through. A miracle that almost turned Dutch into a religious man if not for the fact that Arthur had plai ly stated that he had unfinished business and that's why he was still kicking. 

All in all, the gang was settled and thriving. 

Family finally at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had Arthur died i wonder if the gang would have ended up the same as ch.6? The grief of losing Hosea would be almost the same as losing Arthur, but I almost wonder if Hosea would be better able to smack Dutch into submission...


End file.
